The Good Neighbor Read online

  Your cousin Myrna told me everything.

  I think she wanted to drive me away, to punish you somehow. (Myrna was never very kind-hearted, you told me that.) But of course nothing could take me away from you. I’m glad I know about your baby girl. I’m glad I know where you go when you stare out the window. I’m glad I know why you are a little bit sad every holiday and every year on March 8th. But I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me, that you didn’t have enough faith in me, and in us. Just say the word and I will help you find your daughter. We will go to Staten Island and to that hospital and demand answers. You deserve to know that she is safe and loved. She deserves to know you are her real mother. I will take you away from this house and this street and we will start a new life somewhere else where you don’t have to keep any secrets from anyone. Just say the word.

  Until then, I shall not mention it again, ever. Your secret is safe with me, as is your heart.

  Your loving husband,

  Sol

  “Everything could have been different. Why didn’t he just tell me?” Mrs. Feldman touched her cheeks with both hands and shook her head. She furrowed her brows, as if translating words from a foreign language. “I didn’t have to carry this alone all these years. Oh, Sol, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Andrew slipped the letter into the envelope and slid it across the table. Then he placed each item back into the box, closed the lid, but didn’t lock it.

  My throat ached with the weight of a sheltered sob. From behind, I squeezed Mrs. Feldman’s shoulders in a gentle hug and kissed her cheek. She grasped my hands.

  Andrew spoke into the air, as if to no one. “Secrets and lies change lives. And rarely in a good way.”

  His words burst like soap bubbles and stung my eyes.

  Chapter 23

  Duck, Duck, Goose

  THIS WAS IT. THE day of reckoning. I’d had time to consider Jade’s offer and to think about what it could mean moving forward. And it did seem like moving forward, which is what I wanted and needed. The money would be crucial if Bruce couldn’t get a job. And if he did? With Bruce’s child support I could save a little every month. I brightened at the thought of a nest egg, a vacation fund, of feeling secure. I would accept Jade’s job as the new Dear Abby. But first, I had to come clean.

  I scanned the dining room for Jade and Rachel. There they were, sitting and sipping, engrossed in conversation. Next, I scanned for emotional emergency exits. This was going to be tough. As I made my way over to the table, I saw coordinated couples at tables for two, clusters of friends tucked into corner booths, long tables accommodating multigenerational families. I heard chatter absorbed by well-planned acoustics, and servers who wove seamlessly among the guests.

  What would people see at our table? Jade, the stunning workaholic growing a business but not a personal life? Rachel, the soccer mom who had flirted with disaster? Me, liar, liar, pants on fire?

  I plopped myself down and poured myself a glass of wine. Then I plucked an olive from Jade’s plate and popped it into my mouth.

  Jade lifted her wineglass to the center of the table. “Here’s to—opportunities!”

  “Yes, to opportunities.” Rachel clinked her wineglass with Jade’s.

  I tipped my glass forward and clinked it with Rachel’s, as we had throughout our childhoods. Milk, soda, juice, water. Glass, plastic, paper, aluminum. It didn’t matter. I picked up the menu.

  “Everything looks good. We’re sharing plates, right?”

  “Don’t rush.” Jade pushed down my menu. “You don’t have a curfew.”

  “Right.” Noah was with Bruce.

  “This is the good part,” Rachel said. “You get time off.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, I’ll be taking less time off in the future,” Jade said. “I have news.”

  “So do I,” I said. “But you go first.”

  “I’m not supposed to tell anyone this yet because all the papers aren’t signed, but…” Jade leaned forward almost into the olives. “I’m selling Pop Philly.”

  “What?”

  “I’m tired of worrying about a new influx of cash. I didn’t want to sell ads, I wanted to create great content. The Philadelphia Press made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Her imitation of Marlon Brando set us onto a detour of girlish giggles.

  I exhaled to gain composure. “How did this happen?”

  “They’d been coming to me for the past year and I kept saying no. I didn’t want to sell out.”

  “What changed?”

  “You did.”

  “I made you want to sell Pop Philly?”

  “In the last few months our numbers have skyrocketed. The Press upped their offer. I’d have been a fool to say no. Drew vetted the whole thing for me.”

  “What does this mean?” I shivered as a cold rush flowed through me.

  “I’m going to stay on as editor in chief and do what I wanted to do all along. Don’t worry, your job still stands. You made this possible!”

  Mrs. Feldman would say, It’s an ill wind that blows no good. Or maybe she would just say, Oy vey.

  “You, my dear friend, are going to be Dear Izzy in a new advice column in all these new cities.” Jade opened her arms wide as if revealing the prize behind door number three. “It’s a great opportunity!”

  “If the Press owns Pop Philly, who would I be working for?”

  “Me! As editor in chief I’ll be in charge of building the hyper-local markets with the Press’s parent company. And I won’t have to worry about the advertising or the technical side of things.” At this Jade pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “They have papers and Web sites in ten major markets—all the places your column will be featured, on their sites and advertised in their print editions.”

  “What about the rest of the team? What’s going to happen to Holden? And Darby?”

  “Holden found a new job. When the Press first started sniffing around for real, I pulled him aside and told him about it. He’s as solid as they come. And I’m glad I did, because the Press has a whole tech staff and they weren’t hiring anyone new. He’s a great kid, really talented, and I wanted to be up-front with him. He’ll be with me through the transition and then he’s moving to San Francisco. He landed a job with Google.”

  “Is Darby going with him?”

  Jade read my thought bubble. “They’re not a couple. Holden’s like a mentor to her, a big brother.”

  “Oh! They seem like a couple. They’re together all the time.”

  “She relies on him, looks up to him. Darby worked her way through community college, works at Starbucks full-time, and for Pop Philly part-time. I know she really wanted to be the dating blogger, and I saw her practically salivate over the idea of an advice column, but I saved that for you. I’ll find something else for her to do if she’s still interested. After everything’s out in the open.”

  There was my sign, handed to me on a silver platter and sprinkled with olives. I sipped my wine and changed the subject instead. “But if you’re not monitoring the business end of things with Pop Philly anymore, what? What happens to Andrew? Will he still be advertising on the site? Will he still be working with us? I mean, you?”

  “Okay, missy. Since when do you care so much about Andrew?” Jade said.

  “I thought you said he was a jerk?” Rachel said. “Obviously not if he’s helping Jade.”

  And Mrs. Feldman. And me.

  “He’s a good guy,” Jade and I said together. I covered my mouth with my hand, and Jade’s lips turned up into a smile.

  “Well, well,” she said.

  “People aren’t always who you think they are, are they?” Rachel made it sound like a question, but I knew it was a statement.

  “Talk her into it while I’m gone.” Jade left the table for the ladies’ room.

  “You should’ve told Jade your news first,” Rachel said.

  “You can see how excited she is. This is everything she ever wanted. She deserves her own
happily ever after.”

  “So you’re willing to keep this up?”

  “For now.”

  If it helped Jade, then, yes. I’d put my lies behind me without confessing.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “About what?”

  “About Jeremy!”

  “It was harder than I thought, but I deleted my Facebook account. Then I blocked his number from my phone. I feel like I’m going through withdrawal. I check my phone every two minutes even though I know he can’t text me.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “When I told Seth we need to go to counseling, he said, ‘I know.’”

  “You told him about Jeremy?”

  “Not yet. But I will when the time is right.”

  I squeezed Rachel’s hand and tried to absorb some of her bravery.

  Jade slid back into her seat. “Well? Are you in?”

  I was, but not the way she thought. “Can I have a few days to think about it?”

  “Sure. But there is another very important topic we need to discuss right now.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Your fortieth birthday.”

  Chapter 24

  Charades

  BRUCE TIPPED HIS COWBOY hat. He had a DEPUTY badge clipped to his coat; Noah’s badge said SHERIFF. Noah looked up at his dad. Bruce glanced down, smiled, and pushed Noah’s matching hat down over his eyes. Noah threw back his head and galloped into the living room, exuberant as only a five-year-old can be.

  In two days, Noah’s allegiance had shifted from pirates to cowboys. Or was that mom to dad? Little boys yearned to be like their father, and at five they wanted to be their father. Even my brothers, who had no interest in inheriting Lane Hardware, mimicked our dad in style and in stance throughout their lives. I’d seen many black-and-white photos of Dad with little Eddie and little Ethan in their masculine store aprons and tool belts. By the time I was old enough to sit at the store and observe, Dad all but pounded his chest when the boys traipsed the aisles straightening cans of spray paint or explained to puzzled customers the difference between lag and hex bolts. Pound, pound, pound. Even now, if my dad and brothers sat in the same room for more than twenty minutes, they’d find a 1980s episode of This Old House to watch in bonded silence, right leg crossed on left, hands behind their heads.

  Noah deserved a dad whose life hinged on being his son’s father. I hung up Noah’s coat and glanced back at Bruce. I hadn’t noticed the tinge on his cheeks Friday night, but Bruce’s face glowed with more of a bottled tan than a California one. Faint lines accented his eyes, exacerbated by his squinting as if he needed glasses. Bruce removed his coat, then his hat, but held them. I traced his shoulders with my thoughts, but inside maintained a steady heartbeat. Just two months ago I’d have wrestled away thoughts of the fabric and fit and what lurked beneath. I’d have blushed. Today I didn’t care, just wanted Bruce to leave so I could be with Noah.

  The opposite of love was not hate. The opposite of love was not sarcastic retorts. The opposite of love was not spiteful thoughts. The opposite of love—this love—was indifference.

  I rubbed the back of my dry neck. I didn’t care what Bruce had, where he went, what he did, or whom he did it with—unless it affected Noah. There were many overlaps, but now, clear distinction. The lines in my life were no longer ambiguous.

  “Are you listening to me?” Bruce snapped.

  “Yes. Sorry,” I lied. Twice.

  “I said I’m staying.” Bruce placed a plastic supermarket bag on the floor. Noah’s clothes peeked out the top. “It’s all clean.”

  His statements shuffled and I wasn’t sure which to address first. “Clean clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, your sister did the laundry.”

  “Does matter who did the laundry? I brought back clean clothes.”

  “Thanks.” I meant it. “What did you mean, you’re staying?” I leaned back against the closed closet, disinviting Bruce deeper into my house. Or my life.

  “I’m staying here. At my sister’s.”

  “I didn’t forget where you were, Bruce.”

  “I mean I’m staying longer. Until I find a new place of my own.”

  Wednesday nights, every other weekend, child-support checks. Images of Noah and Bruce getting into his car, driving away, flashed in front of me. My insides twisted, but just for a second, as the euphoric sensation of Sunday-night homecoming hugs resurfaced. “So, you found a job?”

  “I did. It’s not exactly what I wanted, but…” Bruce looked into the living room at Noah.

  Bruce wanted Noah more than he wanted the perfect job.

  I choked back words of pride, but felt a swell in my chest instead of a snarky comeback.

  “What about Amber?” I wasn’t asking as Bruce’s ex-wife. I was asking as Noah’s mom. The question had no undercurrent. When Bruce just stared at me without snarling, I knew he felt that, too. “I mean, if you’re not seeing her anymore, you should probably tell Noah. He liked her.”

  Bruce looked at me, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he didn’t realize he was thinking.

  “We’ll figure that out.”

  I didn’t know who he meant by we, and I didn’t ask.

  “I wanted to tell you, I’m not going to be traveling anymore. This is an office job,” he said. “So now I want Noah fifty percent of the time.”

  “What?”

  “Fifty percent. Either half of each week or every other week. We can see which works better.”

  Neither. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I’m the residential parent, Bruce.” I rubbed my fingers into my palms to stop my hands from shaking.

  “I checked with my lawyer. You can still be the residential parent, Noah won’t change schools, but we already share custody. I have the legal right to have Noah for as much time as you do.”

  “Unless you change your mind and go away for six weeks, right?”

  “How do I know you’re not out every night and leaving Noah with a babysitter? And Friday night you came home with that guy. Did he sleep here? What if Noah would have walked downstairs after I’d left? What kind of an example is that for Noah?”

  My anger swelled. “There is no comparison to a weeknight meeting and six weeks in California. And Andrew only came into the house because I saw your car.”

  “You needed backup? Really? I’m not a monster, Izzers. I’m his dad.”

  “You’re not taking him away from me.”

  “And you can’t keep him from me.”

  “What happens when the West Coast calls again? Or you get fired again?”

  Bruce’s neck reddened. “I’m not going anywhere, Iz.”

  “Famous last words.” When I was pregnant each time, I’d sworn I’d be an ever-present parent. Could I be present when Noah and I were apart as much as we were together? I would have to be. I didn’t want Noah to Ping-Pong between us, but he already was. “This is not what we agreed on. You were just fine with your Wednesday night and every other weekend. And so was Noah. He was fine until you left again.”

  “I missed him, Iz. I want to be a full-time dad, not a Disney dad.” Someone had been reading parenting books. “Let’s not end up in court. Fathers have rights.”

  “Fathers have rights and obligations!”

  “California was a mistake. Haven’t you ever done something you wish you could take back?”

  Jerk.

  “This isn’t about how you feel about me, it’s about Noah.”

  Of course it was about Noah. But it was also about me. What would I do if I weren’t a full-time mommy? Who would fill the hours between dinner and bedtime? Who would I give Eskimo kisses every morning? Who would I read to and snuggle with and kiss on the top of the head? I didn’t know who I was without Noah. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “Noah needs to be with me as much as he needs to be with you,” Bruce said.

  Had Bruce
just realized this? Where was this reasoning when he broke up our family? Skipped Wednesday-night dinners? Took off with Amber? I wanted to protect Noah from the heartbreak and disappointment. That was my job.

  But as much as I hated to admit it, I believed Bruce. For better or worse, he was back for good.

  * * *

  I’d forgotten the rush of maternal adrenaline that came with seeing Noah after a night apart. I’d feel that more often when Noah was with Bruce half the time. Though it was nearing bedtime, and tomorrow was another school day for us both, I ached to stretch the next hour into two. I wouldn’t rush through stories, skip pages, or suggest he looked oh so tired. I would savor each word, syllable, and finger-licked turn of the page. Noah stacked books on his nightstand with care, as if building a house of cards.

  I sat on Noah’s bed and shimmied back against the pillow and headboard. He sat next to me. “You might be more comfortable without the cowboy hat.” Noah shook his head and held the hat on. “The hat is awesome, but you know what I think would be more awesome?”

  “What?”

  “If tonight we weren’t cowboys or pirates.”

  “Or Spider-Man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who do you want to be?” Noah’s eyes stretched wide and round.

  That was a very good question. “I just want to be Noah and Mommy.”

  Noah nodded, removed the hat, and nuzzled against my side and into the crook of my arm with a book in his hands. He announced the title and author as if hosting Masterpiece Theatre, then began reading—reciting—a story he knew by heart.

  I wasn’t holding the book, nor was I reading it. He was reading to me. I participated with my attentive silence. Then my mind drifted to the day Noah had held his bottle for the first time. What was my job now? I thought it then and today. Noah pointed to words and pronounced each one he knew. His r’s sounded more and more like r’s than they ever had before. Each milestone of independence liberated and debilitated me. I kissed his forehead twice and his face turned up toward mine.

  After the divorce, the childhood I imagined and then sowed for Noah had been remnants of my own. That’s all I could imagine. I had claimed the move to Good Street was for Noah, so that he’d have the comforting childhood I’d had with close-knit neighbors, games of half-ball, and summer nights sitting on the steps until way past dark waiting for our parents to call it a night and call us inside. I wanted Noah to collect those memories like the seashells we gathered down the shore and used for craft projects that were stacked on shelves and safeguarded in dusty boxes. But Noah wasn’t going to grow up with two parents in the same house, or with two older brothers. He was going to have two homes, no siblings. Kids didn’t knock on each other’s door anymore. Parents didn’t sit out on the steps. Teenagers didn’t throw Converses over the telephone wires anymore. No one knew telephones once needed wires.